Ten Songs Meme
by Retired 5.01.2012
Summary: A series of one-shots from the popular "10 Songs Meme". Ratings, content, warnings, and pairings vary by chapter. Chapter Four: The Inferno does exist, and it isn't a pretty place.
1. Bulletproof

**Title:** Song Meme #8 - "Bulletproof" by Kerli

**Pairings**: Ironhide x Chromia, Elita x Optimus.

**Rating**: PG-13 for violence, death, and one curse word.

**Warnings**: Angst, implied death.

**Author's Note**: This was written for BloodTempest's Kiriban winnings on DeviantArt. (Added here on February 28th, 2010. Written on February 7th, 2010.) All recognizable content belongs to its owner.

* * *

_Be careful what you say,  
Be careful what you do.  
I'm not bulletproof.  
I'm not bulletproof._  
- Kerli, "Bulletproof"

* * *

The medical bay was uncharacteristically quiet, even more so because of the dozen or so mechs and femmes crammed into the seats that had been dragged into the room. There were no voices or laughter, only the quiet beeps and whirrs of the machines. Chromia, seated directly beside Ironhide, pressed her cheek into his palm, kissing the broad plane gently as her engine hiccuped. Elita rubbed Chromia's shoulder gently as they both surveyed the off-line warrior. He had nearly perished to protect Elita and her sparkling from a surprise attack by rogue Sector Seven agents.

Both of his broad chest plates had been punctured by shrapnel and a sabot round. When he had first entered the medical bay, Ratchet had initially believed that Ironhide would not survive. True to his namesake, his armor absorbed most of the damage, leaving his internals mostly unscathed. The plates had been mangled and melted beyond salvation, so they had to be removed. The gaping crevasse had been covered with a few large pieces of dull steel, stark against his protoform. His cannons, partly dissolved by acid pellets, had been stripped off, leaving behind exposed wires and nodes on his forearms. He looked pitifully bare without them. The only paint that remained on him was the few patches of soot-stained black that had not been destroyed by the acid pellets or Ratchet's soldering tool.

Ratchet entered the room and began to tinker with the wires in Ironhide's exposed shoulder joint, as though the unnecessary repairs would somehow help bring his friend out of stasis. For a cycle, there was nothing but silence and the quiet _hiss_ of Ratchet's soldering tools. Soon, there was nothing left that Ratchet could repair without extra supplies. As Ratchet turned away, Chromia reached out and grabbed his hand, not speaking as she turned her empty, sorrowed optics up to him. Ratchet knew what she wanted to ask.

_Will he survive?_

"Most of the physical damage has been repaired," Ratchet said softly, squeezing her hand gently, "the rest is up to him now. He needs you to lend him strength." Chromia nodded silently, not even noticing the gentle squeeze from Ratchet. She slipped her hand out of his and rested her fingertips against Ironhide's scarred cheek plate. She maintained her dutiful presence in their bond, anchoring him to the physical world. She feared that if she let go for even a split-second, Primus would pluck his spark from his chest.

There was a pulse from his end of the spark bond at her touch. Then there was a ragged groan from the mech's vocalizers. Ratchet dropped his tool onto the berth and leapt into action, running several scans in the span of a few seconds. Just as quickly, he decided on a course of treatment. He twisted a knob on the computer, doubling the energon flow into Ironhide's converter. The surge of raw energon jolted his systems to life. Ironhide's engine spluttered for a brief moment, but roared to life soon afterwards. The strong roar shuddered every few moments. Ironhide's optics came online a split-second later.

"Ratchet?" Ironhide asked quietly, "what happened?"

"Sector Seven agents," Ratchet spat out acidly, "Do not worry about their fates. Optimus terminated them just before you went offline."

Ironhide lifted the hand that Chromia was not clinging to and lifted it into the air above him. He flexed his hand into a fist, turning his wrist over to glance at the port that had connected his cannon to his weapons interface. He peered around the room, looking even more confused than before.

"Oh, Ironhide," Chromia sobbed, throwing her arms around Ironhide's neck, "I was so worried about you! Y-you were so close to deactivating..."

Ironhide patted her back awkwardly. He gave Ratchet a curious look, but he did not push her away. Instead, he rubbed her back soothingly as she cried. After Chromia calmed and let go of his neck, Ironhide spoke very quietly. His brilliant blue optics brightened slightly.

"I don' mind the hug, sweetspark, but who...who the frag are you?"

* * *

_Note: There won't be a continuation of this, so you are more than welcome to decide what happens next. ^^_


	2. Take it Off

**Title:** Song Meme #4 - "Take it Off" by Kesha

**Pairings**: Moonracer x Mirage, Thundercracker, and Soundwave, Firestar x Wheeljack, Optimus Prime x Elita 1, Ironhide x Chromia

**Universe: **A very AU blend of G1 and movie!verses.

**Rating**: R (bumped up from PG-13 just in case)

**Warnings**: Thoughts of interfacing, but nothing extremely graphic.

**Author's Note**: I was talking to **cmo-hatchet** yesterday and she mentioned that Phoenix13 had written a Soundwave x Moonracer fic for her. I offered to post this for CMO because I'vehad it hidden in my "Stories" folder for a while now. So, this is dedicated to **cmo-hatchet** and **Phoenix13**. Enjoy it, you two.

* * *

Moonracer had always known that she was the "odd" one in Elita's contingent. All of her companions had settled down with a good, strong, handsome Autobot. Elita had the wonderful, enigmatic Optimus Prime in her arms every night. Chromia had Ironhide to run to her defense should he even _think_ she needed it. Firestar had Wheeljack to help her finish destroying what was left of her processor. Arcee was entangled with Sunstreaker_ and _Sideswipe – lucky femme had two mechs to tend to her needs.

Moonracer? No, she was the "odd" one. And she always had the "odd" relationships. First there was Mirage. The interface had been great, but the silence afterward was always awkward. After sending him on his way (and subsequently to Hound; both mechs were now happily bonded), she had moved on to First Aid. He was very sweet to her, and taking his innocence had been quite the thrill for her.

Once again, things grew more awkward as their work together under Ratchet grew more intense. They came to see one another as siblings. The moment she realized it, she had sent him on his way as well. There were three mechs after that, and there went the supply of good Autobot mechs.

Moonracer found her optics wandering over to the _other _side of the battlefield more and more often. There were plenty of handsome Decepticons for her to choose from. How hard could it be to convince one of them that she wanted a relationship?

Apparently, it was extremely difficult.

Thundercracker had nearly burst a seam from laughter when she had asked him to the drive in (in the middle of hand-to-hand combat, no less) later on that week. He hadn't meant to insult her, but here wasn't any way that a jet could go to the drive in without being noticed, now was there? Then she had asked him if he wanted to hang out.

However, she soon grew bored of the Decepticon and his outdated methods of interface, so she had snipped that relationship within six months. Two mechs later, Moonracer had decided that she was never going to find a mech she liked. Then, she had strayed into a clearing (during battle, disobeying Elita One's direct orders) to contemplate why she couldn't find a mech that held her interest.

The bushes rustled, and in a fit of depression and anger, she shouted at the intruder without thinking it through.

"_Leave me alone, you stupid slagger! Can't you see I'm trying to think here?!"_

"_Your situation is amusing."_

She had gasped and leapt to her feet.

"_Come any closer and I will shoot you!" _she had shouted nervously, feeling along her armor for her trusty blaster.

"_With this?"_ Soundwave had asked, dangling her petite blue weapon from his fingertips.

"_Give it back,_" she had said, taking three large steps forward. His resulting laughter had been the prettiest thing she had heard in a very long time.

"_For a femme, you have poor manners,_" he had intoned, pocketing the blaster. Moonracer growled at him – and without thinking it through in the least bit – she had marched up to him and kicked him squarely in the shin.

"_You are a bully, Soundwave_," she had responded, poking him firmly in the hip, "_a big, mean, nasty Decepticon bully."_

After another laugh from the telepath, Soundwave had disappeared, leaving Moonracer behind to explain her missing weapon. It was that day that Moonracer realized something. Why had he even spoken to her? The telepath was normally silent unless directly addressed by Megatron or Starscream. And he had such pretty laughter!

That was the day that Moonracer's fascination with Soundwave began. 


	3. Andare

**Title:** Song #9 - "Andare" by Ludovico Einaudi.

**Pairings**: Implied Ratchet x OC

**Rating**: PG for some darkness.

**Warnings**: Crack, some angst.

**Author's Note**: Transformers is not mine. Transformers belongs to Hasbro. No copyright infringement is intended; I'm just playing with the characters.

* * *

She had been named after the acid that fell from the skies of Cybertron.

He cupped his hand and held it out, watching as the tiny droplets splattered in his hand. The soft _pit-pats_ of the water hitting his armor was barely audible over the rolling thunder and the occasional crack of lightning. He turned his gaze up to the horizon. The sun was just setting, throwing bright rays of sunlight into the chaos of the storm.

She had been as wild and tempestuous as the storm clouds roiling overhead.

Ratchet sighed and retracted his hand, wiping the water onto his thigh. He crossed his arms over his chest. Silent, lost to his thoughts of the femme he had once loved. _Rain_, he mouthed silently, rolling the vowels around his vocalizer. A small grimace crossed his face plate as the pure thoughts turned dark and violent.

She had been beautiful, even with his sire's energon splattered on her chest and arms.

There was another boom of thunder from overhead. The rain began to pour down harder as the wind picked up. He took a step back into the airplane hangar to avoid getting wet. Soft puffs of humid air swept up to his scent receptors – soft, musty, and earthy. Full of the promise of life.

She had been turned Decepticon by the Megatron's seductive words and ideals.

Ratchet bowed his head, his spark weighing heavily in its casing. He was the last of his aristocratic family line; a peaceful line of researchers, scientists, and doctors. She had been the daughter of an inner city merchant. Their love had been forbidden, but they had pursued it nonetheless. Autobots had favored absolute rule by the Prime; the Decepticons had favored rule by majority. Politics had torn them apart. Stubborn pride had kept them that way.

She had unknowingly taken his sons with her to the Decepticon side.

Ratchet turned away from the open doors, leaning against the wall heavily. His spark still ached for the young sparklings that she had been forced to abandon. He still remembered the night she showed up at the front entrance of their base, both tiny sparklings in her arms. After giving them to Prowl, she had melted into the darkness. He never saw her again.

She had nearly driven him insane when they were a couple.

Her playful pranks were spectacular, if not occasionally painful and embarrassing.

Her vanity was nearly insufferable, to the point where would spend a full joor polishing her armor.

Ratchet smiled slightly when Sunstreaker heaved Sideswipe over his shoulder and pounced on his brother. The yells grew louder. The insults grew more vulgar. As he waded into the fight and pried the mechs apart by the scruff, he felt a small smile quirk the side of his mouth up.


	4. World Ablaze

**Title:** "World Ablaze" by Killswitch Engage

**Pairings**: None

**Rating**: PG-13 (just to be safe)

**Warnings**: Crack, some angst.

**Author's Note**: Transformers is not mine. Transformers belongs to Hasbro. No copyright infringement is intended; I'm just playing with the characters.

* * *

He could hear the screams of the damned, even as he stood at the edge of the fiery pit of Inferno. Fiery flames licked at his heels as he surveyed his new home. Desperately, he wondered what he had done to earn an eternity of torture. The wails of the damned made an eerie symphony over the roar of the flames, and as his spark sank, he realized that his own cries would soon join them. Taking a quaff of hot, musty air into his systems, he stepped forward and entered the swirling maelstrom.

Through the quivering waves of heat rising from the scorched ground, he could see the broken, unmoving bodies of those who had sinned, those who had disobeyed the Unmaker Himself -

"What the frag is wrong with you?" barked the Keeper of the Pit himself, uncoiling with deadly, panther-like grace from his throne. He nervously took a step back as he eyed the severed heads littering the ground around the throne. The mouths were twisted open in silent, ghoulish screams.

"Are you going to stand around all day?" the Keeper asked, taking one menacing step forward. He cringed slightly.

He blinked in surprise, broken from his musing. White walls and polished counters swam into focus, replacing the iron torture racks and demons. The screams were replaced by the soft beeping of machinery and an occasional announcement over the intercom. From where he stood, he could see an aqua colored she-demon scurrying between tables with a datapad in her hands. Oh, wait. Never mind. That was Moonracer…but he couldn't help but to feel that the previous description was an apt one.

"Are you fragging deaf?" snarled the white-and-red devil, "_get to work, you moron."_

He obeyed silently, twitching as the Overlord of the Inferno sent him a narrow glare.

"About damn time," Ratchet snarled quietly, as First Aid scurried to his post.


End file.
